


He Used My Son

by Soquilii9



Category: Leverage
Genre: Child Loss, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Maggie - Freeform, Sam - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3415700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soquilii9/pseuds/Soquilii9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan Ford's interior monologue</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Used My Son

_Dubenich: Are you in?_

_Nate: It’s not going to work, these people you hired they all have the same rep. They work alone, they always work alone, there’s no exceptions and there’s no way they’re going to work for you._

_Dubenich: No, they will, they will. For $300,000 each, they will, and for you, for running it, it’s double that. And it’s off the books, completely off the books. Look at me, I’m desperate here. And that’s just the salary, there is a bonus. Pierson is insured by I.Y.S., your old bosses. It’s a 50 million dollar intellectual property rights policy. Mr. Ford, how badly do you want to screw the insurance company that let your son die?_

_~_

_Eliot: What’s in it for you?_

_Nate: He used my son._  
  
  
In those brief few seconds before he suggested to his new team that they go get Sophie…Eliot sputtering, demanding to know exactly what that was…Nate's mind clenched with memories…images, sounds and the smells of the day Sam died. Before he forced his mind back to the present and the matter at hand, every synapse bombarding each neuron, making his very scalp tingle, he found himself back in the old deep, dark cave of depression.

They didn't have children. Not any he knew about, anyway. Parker, no, of course not…Hardison, doubtful…but where was the man who was completely certain he hadn't spilled a fertile seed here and there and never found out? Eliot, sorta likely. With his track record…but, no...

So they wouldn't understand.

They couldn't understand. The first time I held Sam in my arms…his first taste of pureed spinach…oh, the expression on his tiny face! His first steps…first word… I missed a lot of that, working at IYS…and IYS wasn't worth it. I had to hear about it second hand from Maggie.

But there were plenty of firsts for me, and me alone. He opened the world to me like it was wonderful and new…nothing to be taken for granted. First day of school, eager, brave, yet terrified…the first time he hit a homer in Little League…his first successes, first failures at the little things he attempted…

So many firsts, and so many firsts of this life to come…but some celestial butcher knife came crashing down and severed its connection to him. Some higher power slammed a door in my face.

I lost him. I lost my son. I've had to repeat that to myself endlessly, trying to buy into it. It's still hard to believe.

His mother. I never stopped to think about what it might have done to Maggie. It was all about me. Our marriage didn't survive. That, nor the loss of anyone or anything I ever loved, is all meaningless trivia next to losing Sam.

No, they don't understand how you can hold it together for your child's sake while he goes through that torture chamber they call a hospital, how knowing it's all for naught can make you lose every ounce of that control, grabbing what is left of your only child away from doctors and nurses who keep their professional distance in the wake of your horror, how you can again hold it together for the sake of your wife, standing by his casket, watching it sink into a deep, dark hole…then wake up night after night, thinking you're having a coronary and releasing the unremitting pain with a cry so terrible you can't breathe… You think maybe you're about to join Sam, it's so unbearable…and that would be ok too…but somehow you bear it, the sobbing tires you, allows you to sleep for a time…but there are some nights that never end, and you can't sleep. To achieve that blissful blackout that gives you at least some ease, you hit the bottle, climb in and nestle in its cold depths for want of anything else.

And you stay there.

No, they wouldn't understand. When they say 'I'm sorry about your kid' as Eliot just did, it's just surface etiquette. They haven't got a fucking clue. No, but they mean well.

Those who don't…like Dubenich…actually using my son's memory to manipulate me. I'd like to castrate him. So yeah. Let's get this show on the road. I'm not a corporate suck up any more. Fuck IYS. I'm no longer their puppet. They fucked me, now watch me fuck them back. And Dubenich? Run and hide if you can. I've got the tools, the weapons and the people I need to take you down.

~

That deep, dark cave of depression was for the first time, Nate's ally. It gave him incentive like nothing else.

So he shook it all off, focused his thoughts and said, 'All right. Let's go get Sophie.'

 

The End  
  
  
  
_Evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it's raining, but the feeling of being rained upon. - E.L. Doctorow_

 

_This work is dedicated to my beloved son, Gene Smith 1981~2009_


End file.
